Favorites
by UniversalChaos
Summary: Ross doesn't know why he can't stop thinking about Chase... He's confused and he wants out of it! But is fate all that easy to escape?   boyXboy themes - don't read if you don't like it :p


Favorites

It was dark. The light that had permeated every corner of this place just hours ago had now disappeared. Now it was desolate, empty and most of all sinister. Yet, it matched my current mood perfectly: I felt as alone as this place seemed in the coldest hours of the night.

My fingers trembled, as I lifted them close to my lips, blowing on them to keep the chill air away. I leaned against the lamppost as if it was life buoy in this churning sea of darkness. The small circle of sickly light it cast around me was the only light seemingly for miles. Tonight it was my personal spotlight and was I the melodramatic, yet tragic, soap star loser that everyone hoped their children didn't turn out like.

Why would an eighteen year old like myself stand in this abandoned parking lot in the middle of the night? One reason might be that I had just been dumped by my five years' girlfriend, the other that my coping mechanism for this had been to go on an all night bender. And leave my car door unlocked.

Drunk half out of my mind, I came back to find that my car was no longer there. It was also midnight. So, I just stood in the freezing cold. My leather jacket shook from the gasps racking my body. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. No they never came. M y brother raping Elvire? No tears there. My mother dying in a car crash? Dry-eyed. Elvire telling me she was in love with an older man, namely my brother? Once again I turned my back on the pain and left for the nearest bar.

Now my painstakingly restored 80's Canary Yellow Commodore gone, I had nothing worthwhile left. I simply stood there, dying for a smoke, hopefully one that would give me some fatal lung cancer. I finally pulled out my dying cell phone, and called Chase. I listened to the robotic voice of a woman informing me I had less than $2 left on my credit and then patiently listened to the ringing on the other end.

Each ring left with a more and more irritated feeling. Why did I long so much for him to answer the phone? Why did memories of a month ago haunt me so much? I hadn't spoken to Chase since then, yet I was sure he would welcome me to his apartment. It was frightening, though. I was in his debt from many occasions. How had I come to depend on this middle-school classmate so much?

We had met quite coincidently at the same music store two months ago, searching for the same forgotten band. The Conquistadors. Maybe this was a clue to what future was coming. Our hands brushed each others' quite abruptly and our eyes met. Although we had never been close in those late middle school years of 7, 8 and 9, I immediately recognized him. Chase had been one of the less favored teens in our school. He had been laughably short, thin with unruly curly hair and huge glasses, completing the geeky look with lime green braces. He had been mercilessly bullied and reportedly attempted to commit suicide.

I had been one of the luckier ones, accepted as a decent football player, average looking and with a gorgeous girlfriend. I guess I had overlooked Chase just like the rest of my classmates had. I had never caused any trouble for him, though. And on that bright Saturday morning as our fingers brushed above the dustier racks of CDs, I felt a bit awkward.

I looked up to find Chase completely changed. He was just the right height, wearing contacts so that his clear blue eyes were no longer hidden and his teeth were straight and wonderfully white. His blond hair waved to the nape of his neck. And he was undeniably beautiful. Not handsome, but beautiful. I could have mistaken him for a women had it not been for the fact that I recognized his face. He had had his ears pierced extensively, dripping with gold rings and silver crosses. Chase's clothes were strangely androgynous. He wore a gray, wide-collared turtle neck of soft wool and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans, the belt studded with silver hearts.

As soon as our eyes met, I felt a strong connection. "Ross! Long time no see, man," Chase spoke, his voice cheerful, straight teeth on show in his wide smile. "Yeah, last we spoke it was my fifteenth birthday, huh? How you been, Chase?" I answered, realizing that our hands were still touching. I pulled away quickly, seeing Chase's eyes darken from my abrupt movement. "Working as muse for an artist friend. It's good pay, so I'm pretty happy. I live on my own now; parents kicked me out last year. You? Still hanging with the 'Crew'?" he asked this last question with an unreserved distaste, his fist clenching.

"No, we're not in contact any more. I never was really close with any of those guys," I said, meeting his eyes once again, my expression grim. Chase noticeably lightened up. "I do a bit of car repair for my uncle, nothing big," I finished leaning back and letting my head brush against the wall.

"Well, I don't see anyone from school anymore, really. Want to go out for a bite? It'll be good to catch up," Chase said, leading me outside. And so, we exchanged phone numbers, enjoying a day of nostalgia and companionship. Chase leaned close to me as we ate the well-loved burgers from the renowned Charli's Steakhouse. His breath smelled of mint and something else, maybe the salty burgers. His skin shone a healthy cream in the bright overhead lights, a smile never leaving his expression. I found myself blanking out of the conversation, busy staring at his lips, the way they moved.

We parted ways amicably, but I couldn't bring myself to call him the next weekend, or the weekend after that. Apprehension filled me every time I scrolled past that name, in search of another's. Still, fate brought us together once again, although not in the best of ways. He found me sprawled in front of a local nightclub, lying pathetically among the prickly bushes and my own unimpressive vomit.

I had barely eaten for days, no hunger plaguing me with my mother in intensive care from the recent crash. That night, on one of my hopeful visits, I found her bed empty. Eager, I asked the sleepy nurse at the reception desk which unit my mother had been moved to, how her recovery was going. Almost like in a dream, the nurse lifted her eyes; dark circles enhanced by the dim overhead lightning, and informed me in uninterested monotone that my mother had passed away in the night, shortly after my last visit. The buzz of the life support machines surrounding us in this bleak corridor suddenly intensified, the paper-thin walls seemingly gone. I swayed and gripped onto the reception desk, my knuckles white. I stared at this despicable woman, my eyes wide and possibly crazed. "Why wasn't I informed of this?" I shouted my voice between a screech and a wobbling cry of despair.

The nurse seemed quite unimpressed by this outburst. She tilted her head, stiff bob not shifting in the slightest. "According to our records, we called the house at 9:00 AM; the morning after your mother's passing. No one was home, so we left a message. There is nothing more this unit can do for you at the moment, until the autopsy returns." This was said in a matter-of-fact way, as if reporting some terrible far-away war in imitation of the forever-smiling news reporters. There was no remorse in this hardened death informing veteran's voice, no furrow between her brows in consideration of the pain I might be feeling.

I had a ludicrous image pop into my head if the nurse's first time informing a family of a patient's passing. She had tears in her eyes, face full of pain, looking as if she felt personally responsible for the terrible event. This did not calm me, however. I felt the fear and pain well up inside of me, and unable to suppress it, I continued the taboo of yelling at my superiors in society. "I was in school, Dammit! Do none of you incompetent fools think to call in the evening?" I was now screaming, the hostility coming from me in waves. The nurse's expression remained remarkably unchanged. I started to suspect this happened on many occasions or that this woman was taking some kind of tranquilizer.

"I am going to have to ask you to leave, sir. We have sleeping patients and it is against hospital regulations to make loud noises at any time, especially in the later hours of the day. I will personally escort you out, if you like," threatened the nurse, who according to her name tag went by Ms. Oxsley. I wondered if that was what they told women in labor. _Bite your tongue, Judy. Can't have you yelling! Old Mrs. Finche next door might wake up from her coma. It's not __**that**__ bad… _Shaking I submitted to this humiliation; a heartless bitch like Ms Oxsley throwing me out of the hospital, like some homeless vagabond.

My sight blurred, the chairs and tables in the waiting room becoming white obstacles, the sickly children crying out in indignation, sirens to my pounding ears. My eyes itching with the need to let tears out, but I held them back. I bit my lips viscously until salty blood filled my mouth and headed for the place I knew I could get some alcohol. It was after ten or twelve shots and an argument with the bartender, that Chase found me lying in the bushes, surrounded by a pool of my own vomit.

I did not resist as he pulled me into his beat-up Chevy and drove me to his clean, but spartan apartment. When I came to, I found myself stripped naked, and in a warm bath, my body being gently scrubbed by him, lavender scented soap frothing around me. His hands were soft and gentle, each scrubbing motion like a caring caress; a caress that my mother would have made. In the most unlikely of places, I finally felt free to cry. Tears streamed down my cheeks, mixing with the lavender-scented, bubbly streams of water dripping from my hair. Still, Chase could tell I was crying. He dropped the sponge and cradled my dripping head against his chest, his polo shirt darkening with the water spreading across it. It was almost like blood, soaking into his clothes. The thought made my shudder, but I felt so much calmer in this warm, strong grip.

With a virtual stranger, I was at home, among my family, I was alone. I cried silently for about an hour, Chase never letting go of me until I asked to dress. He brought me his own clothes, a plain white shirt, which I could tell from a glance, was very expensive and the jeans he had been wearing on the day we met each other at the music store. Both were freshly laundered and smelled comfortingly of roses. I dressed silently, drying myself in the large, teal towel offered.

Somehow, Chase knew not to leave me alone. He was there the whole time, eyes downcast, as I emerged from the bath, water splashing all over the immaculate bathroom tiles. The air was chilling against my skin, which had been so warm immersed in the just-right bath water, Chase's own warm grip making me feel comfortable and safe. Now, I felt like an intruder. I dressed hurriedly, in a rush to leave and relieve Chase of this uncomfortable situation. **He must be feeling so awkward; I acted like a complete loser. I'll have to make it up to him somehow. **I was practically out the door, when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Ross, you don't have to leave. It's no trouble, really. I don't think it's such a good idea going back home looking that pale. Just sleep here tonight and rest up. I'll call your uncle for you and explain that you weren't feeling so well, so you won't have to go to work. I'm free tomorrow. You can talk to me about whatever's bothering you. Are you desperate to get away from me?" Chase's voice suddenly sounded hollow and fearful; fearful that he was pushing me away. I was shocked that I had given him the idea he had done something wrong.

I forced a smile. "No, Chase, you've been great. I want to spend some time with you. I'll just have a quick nap. Can I use the sofa?" my voice was vacant, as if someone was playing a recording of it from their phone. Chase shook his head violently. "Sleep on my bed, please! You need it more than me. Just rest," with this demand, he left me in front of his bedroom door, making his way towards the sofa. I watched his innocent face, like a perfect painting, relax, his long-lashed eyes closing, peace overcoming his features. He fell asleep almost immediately. **It must have been really hard carrying me up all those stairs**, I mused, dimly recalling the juddering journey up to the apartment.

I felt, guilty, warm and clean, while Chase was still wet from hugging me before and probably cold from sitting on the edge of the bath for so long. I took the duvet off of the bed and covered him as best as I could, tucking him in like a child. I felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him on the lips, to console myself in the soft pout he wore unbearably seductively in his slumber. I resisted the urge however, stopping myself inches from his face, my steady breathing blowing his stray hair across it. Suddenly, he spoke, his voice longing, urgent. "Ross, I don't want you to go. Please, please don't leave me. Don't leave me alone," the words came from his lips, but his eyes were still tightly shut.

I almost reassured his frightened begging, but caught myself in time with the realization that he was speaking in his sleep. I kissed his sweet-smelling hair, and went back to his bedroom door. Making sure not to make a sound, I entered Chase's private world. The walls were adorned with posters of the bands I loved, manga and DVDs covered every available surface except for the bed, still unmade and adorably rumpled. The walls were a robin blue and the carpet soft and thick, welcoming to my cold, barefoot feet.

I was too tired to look closely at the things surrounding me, but before I closed my eyes, the yearbook photo of me in 9th grade jumped at me from Chase's mirror. I saw my young, virgin face smiling back at me, the small photo tucked neatly into the edge of the mirror's ornate wooden frame. My last thoughts were of how long Chase had had that photo of me in his room, before I sank into a deep slumber, Chase's soft water bed supporting my aching and hungover body.

I awoke well after 2 PM. A hearty meal of scrambled eggs, porridge and buttered toast awaited me with a glass of cranberry juice. Chase stood in the clothes of yesterday, in an adorable pink apron, his hair still tousled, indicating he head awoken only a little while before, himself. The kitchen was small, but bright and cozy. I felt at home immediately. Sitting down at the round, tan table I ate hungrily. My appetite had made an appearance at last. "I made some green tea for you. I know it's your favorite," this was from Chase, his blue eyes kind and knowing. "You remember from that school camping trip? It was five years ago!" I laughed, touched that Chase paid so much attention to every little detail. "I try my best," Chase answered, a smile never leaving him.

I told Chase all about my mother's death and about my brother's assault of my long-time girlfriend. It was the perfect environment to spill my guts, warm mug of green tea in my grip, attentive face before me. Chase didn't comment on anything until I was completely done. He seemed to listen to each of my words like they were rare pieces of life advice you get from those wise people that you always see in movies, like what I said mattered. It was a wonderful feeling. He made me feel important, the center of attention. Unlike my brother, who brushed any talk of emotions or pain away, saying his favorite admonishment: _'If you keep talking about __**feelings**__ and __**emotions**__ any more, Ross, your tiny balls will just drop off and you'll become a girl. Just like the little girl you're inside. Is that what you want?'_

This remark always shut me up, made me ashamed to show emotions. Chase was Damien's polar opposite. He did everything he felt like doing. He said what he thought and went anywhere he wanted. And so over the next few weeks, we spent almost all of our time together. I slept half the time over at Chase's house and spent less and less time under my brother's choking influence. A week after my second meeting with Chase, he invited me to the local art gallery.

I remember that day perfectly. Chase was dressed in knee-high combat boots, a floor-reaching black trench, cropped purple riding trousers and a skin-tight leopard print top. His mid-length, unruly hair was tied back in a rushed pony tail, tendrils of hair hanging around his ears and eyes. He seemed to have something wonderful to tell me, something that couldn't wait until tomorrow morning when we had planned to meet. I had been awoken on that early Saturday morning with my phone's impatient ringing, its sound something I had become accustomed to since meeting Chase.

His voice was breathless and excited, "Meet me at South Gate Art Exhibitioners near Breem Street. I have great news!" We met and Chase jumped into my arms unexpectedly. He pulled away and informed me that everything he had been hoping for had worked out. "Come on in to the gallery! Phillip's private art series has finally gotten into the viewing room. All the pieces are for sale!" I was a bit confused about his enthusiasm, but it sucked me in nonetheless. And as I stepped into this part of the gallery I realized what Chase was so excited about. On every wall surrounding us were paintings, sketches, watercolors and inked pictures of him. All around me were depictions of this beautiful man, Chase.

It was a bit of a shock, but all of these images revealed something different about Chase. Things I never thought to notice. One long rectangular canvas focused on the exact colors in his eyes. They were depicted over and over again, in slightly different shades of blue, and with different materials. I looked at the price tag and almost choked. It was $13,000. Chase's ecstatic voice came near my ear, "I get 5% of each piece. The more we sell the more I make. I'm over the moon!" I couldn't tear my eyes away from the art, though. I took in all of these variations and perspectives like a starving animal.

Here Chase stood with his back to the artist, looking over a panorama of the city. In another depiction he read a book, his face serious and sensual. Yet in another he smiled, holding shopping bags. He looked like he was crying in one particular ink piece and I shivered when I realized he was staring at a cell phone across from him on the nightstand.

There were quite a few paintings and sketches where Chase was completely naked. I couldn't help but stare as I realized that Chase was extremely fit. I also felt inexplicably jealous that the artist, Phillip something, had seen my middle school classmate in the nude at some point. Some of the poses were rather suggestive. This made me have rather unpleasant thoughts. I couldn't help myself from asking Chase about his relationship with this Phillip man, who throughout our long conversations, had only been mentioned once or twice.

I knew the artist was 25 and had seen a photograph of him with Chase. Phillip was, undeniably, handsome, if not in a film noir kind of way. He had no goatee or mustache often associated with independent artists, but he did have long, straight, black hair that was tied back with a golden ribbon. In the photograph, he was in a bar with Chase, one arm around his shoulders, both of them smiling and at ease. This entire exhibition made me feel strangely perverse; like I was spying into another's mind. Like I was seeing the secret obsession Phillip had with my new friend. I was surprised at the amount of people who were in the gallery on the first day of the exhibition. I could see at least a dozen people, half negotiating the price of different pieces, all oblivious to the fact that the subject of all of this art was among them, calm and not even hiding his presence.

I went up to Chase, the need to ask him about his true relationship with the infamous Phillip blazing, only to find that once I had his attention, I was too cowardly to actually ask him. Instead I asked another thing that came to mind, "Chase how much does Phillip pay you?" The answer was unabashed, "He pays me $200 per hour," Chase answered, his face giving nothing away. I was shocked. It was more than what I made in a month working for my uncle. "And you lived with him?" Chase gave me a wry smile, "I bought the apartment a couple months ago. And, yes, until then I lived in his penthouse."

My breath stopped. I couldn't hold back my question now, "Did you sleep with him?" I blurted out. Several emotions played across Chase's face, before he had a neutral expression once again. He had certainly expected me to ask something of the sort, but not for me to be so blunt. With a deep sigh Chase answered, his eyes averted, "Yes, but only once or twice. It was for the more sexual pictures of me. He wanted to see my orgasmic face and well… there are very straight forward ways to achieve that." As the words came out of his mouth, my head snapped up, I looked around quickly, expecting to see this picture somewhere among the mass around me.

Chase read my mind. "It's not here," here he gave a small cough, "It's in his private viewing collection." My next question was even more abrupt. "Do you love him?" I asked, my voice aggressive, even to my own ears. "No!" Chase was adamant, his answer too quick to be casual. "Um… at least not anymore." I sensed I had ruined the happy and excited atmosphere of the day. Chase wouldn't meet my eyes. He stood up, the bench he had been sitting on screeching with the force of his sudden movement. "I have to go, Ross. The meeting still on tomorrow?" he asked, voice sedated, the opposite of what it had been an hour ago. "Yeah, see you then, Chase."

It was a Sunday. Chase and I met in front of his house, and we started to take a walk. We hadn't gotten far when my brother spotted us. He was across the street, in his usual dingy jacket, walking at a leisurely clip. He crossed the street as soon as he noticed us, calling out in an obnoxious voice as he did so, "Ross! Didn't tell me you'd found yourself a girlfriend! Is this the chick you've been disappearing all the time for? What's her name?"

Chase beside me, blushed visibly, burying his hands in the pockets of his spray jacket. I was terribly offended for him, all the anger and hidden resentment inside of me towards Damien finally bubbling over. "This is Chase, Damien. An old friend, **not **my girlfriend," I called back, my voice curt and angry. Damien's expression didn't change and when he spoke, his voice was confused, "Chase? That's a weird name for a girl. Is that a nickname?" I was astounded at my brother's stupidity. "Apologize at once, Dumbass! Chase is a guy, for fuck's sake! Are you blind as well as retarded?" I yelled, my voice much more angry than I had thought it would be.

Damien's expression changed this time. He looked angry and betrayed. "Ross, don't tell me you've hanging out with that faggot all this time. What would we tell dad? You can't be associated with a gay guy!" I felt steam blow out of my nostrils. I didn't even pause to think, or pretend Chase wasn't gay. I simply walked up to Damien my long-time archnemisis and punched in the face. Astonished, he fell back, and I would have made him fall to the ground if Chase hadn't caught my arms and pulled me back.

"What the hell was that for, Ross? Are you out of your fucking mind? Or just protecting your bitch's honor?" Damien sneered, his homophobic colors showing, his truly despicable nature visible. "And what are you, Damien? A fucking rapist and a girlfriend stealer, that's what. You couldn't do better than me, so you just tried to steal my girl. Fuck off! I don't want to see your ugly mug ever again. I'm gonna get my own place and I don't need you. Go back home to Dad and your retard friends. Get out of my fucking face and life!" I screamed, random pedestrians passing by staring at this face off, their mundane lives finally getting a little interesting.

Up until now, Chase hadn't said a word. He had quietly allowed me to let off my long-gathering steam and defend him. But his caring nature appeared suddenly and he tried to mend things as best as he could. "Damien, I don't know you, but I know that you don't want to lose your brother. Just apologize for hurting Elvire and make up. I don't really care about what you said to me, I just don't want family becoming estranged. I know how painful it can be," here Chase's voice cracked and he couldn't continue. Damien's hateful gaze rested on him for a moment, dismissing any opinions Chase had shared. "Just, shut up fag, you deserve everything you get; don't stick your fucking nose in our family business." With this parting shot, he turned his back on us and walked off, in the direction of Elvire's house.

It was probably then that he told her I was gay and convinced her to break up with me. I see in hindsight that, it was likely Elvire had lied to me. She had liked Damien better from way back. I had just caught her out in a lie and she had come up with some shit she knew I would believe to save face. I simply stood in the street, looking pissed, not knowing what to say to my brother's disappearing back. Chase spared me, leading me gently back to his apartment. He sat me down and made some hot chocolate. I drank the liquid for a while, neither of us speaking, both of us with a lot to say.

I stood up finally and approached Chase. "About what Damien said before…" I started, but Chase didn't let me finish. "Shhh. I know, but he was right. I am gay. And, Ross… I love you. I wanted to say that since 8th grade. I can't look at anyone but you. I couldn't return the infatuation Phillip had for me; I couldn't love any of the girls that approached for the past two years. I only have space in my heart for you. I don't know if it disgusts you, but… I want to let you know my true feelings. I can't hope for you to return them, but this is the best I can do," Chase's voice was quiet and relaxed, as if he had prepared for this for the past three weeks since we had met again. I realized how much I had hurt him yesterday in the art gallery.

We stood before each other, less than an inch separating us. Before I knew what was happening, Chase was kissing me. He kissed me slowly and with all the lust he had been harboring for five years. I didn't resist, maybe even kissed him back, everything was fuzzy. I had an inkling that the hot chocolate had been spiked with the bourbon I had seen in Chase's cabinet. He pushed against me, until I was pressed against the armrest of the sofa. But he didn't stop there. He pushed just a little more and we both fell onto the soft cushions, Chase on top of me.

Now his kissing was much more urgent and needy. He pulled up my shirt, his tongue exploring every crevice of my mouth. He seemed to have been drinking as well; the courage of the Irish was upon him. I kissed him back and both of us were completely aroused by now. I began pulling at his clothes when Elvire's face flashed in my mind. I remembered the tears in her eyes as she told me what Damien had done. Her voice shook and she needed me. I hugged her close and she asked me in a quavering tone, 'Ross, promise… Don't ever betray me, ok, baby?' As those words echoed in my mind, I knew I couldn't do this – especially with a guy. It didn't matter what had happened over the past few weeks, this was crossing a line I couldn't return from.

My heart beating faster than I could have ever imagined, I pushed Chase off, my shirt already up to my armpits. "Chase… I can't. Sorry. I'm not gay and I can't do it. Please understand. I don't think we should meet after this. I don't want to hurt your feelings because I can't return them," I spoke these words, my voice emotionless, knowing in the back of my mind these were lies. But my heart couldn't betray my girlfriend of five years, Elvire. I left, leaving Chase sitting on the sofa, his face cold and hard. And I was sure this would be the last time we would speak — until tonight.

I stood here in this desolate parking lot, unable to cast Chase out of my mind. And he was the only person I could turn to for help now. Relief flooded though me as soon as I heard his sleepy voice on the other line. He obviously hadn't looked at the caller ID. I didn't give Chase a chance to hang up and begged him to pick me up from the lot. He agreed and the Chevy appeared over the hill not long after. I had never been happier to see him.

I stepped into this already familiar flat with a very thankful feeling. This place was like a second home to me. And I suddenly felt like I was free from Elvire. She had finally been able to tell me she was in love with Damien. She had finally worked up the courage to do so. And the same was for me. I could finally admit to myself that I had more than friendly feelings for Chase. I didn't waste a moment. As he shut the door behind us, I kissed him. I kissed him like he had kissed me the last time I had been here. He didn't resist, but he didn't kiss me back either. Maybe he was shocked, maybe he was still angry at me, I didn't really care. I just wanted to taste him again.

Suddenly, he shoved me away, so hard I almost fell. His face was furious, hands clenched, chest heaving for breath. That's when he slapped me. Forcefully, making tears appear in the corners of my eyes. "How dare you? Just waltzing in here and kissing me? You think this is a game?" Chase's voice wasn't raised, but it held so much venom, I winced. I couldn't comprehend what the matter was, when Chase cleared the air.

"Elvire broke up with you, right? That's why you're here tonight. You must be have not been getting any for a while now, Ross, isn't that true? Feeling horny and thinking, oh that's right, Chase is gay. He's a gay fuck who told me he was in love with me last time I was over. I can just go over to his house and fuck him, because he motherfucking easy! He's so desperate to get into my pants that he'll do anything for me! I can do him and then leave and come back any time! Because Chase is gay faggot and he should be thankful I decided I would experiment with men. Chase is an easy fuck, with no strings attached! He's a stupid loser, I'll just get laid and fuck off! He can't say anything; he owes me for actually fucking him like he begged me to so many times to! He **owes **me!" Chase was screaming by now, his calm façade gone as his fists punched into the wall. He was sobbing at the same time, his voice pitched abnormally high.

I stood there, words leaving me. I couldn't believe Chase thought I wanted to use him. He must have believed what I had told him, I realized. He thought I didn't love him. That I felt nothing when I saw him, that he meant nothing to me. My heart broke as I watched Chase, out of steam, fall to his knees right in front of the door, his body shaking, tears dripping onto the carpet. His pain was practically tangible, and I understood perfectly well why he thought he was being used, and I guess I **had **used him in a way.

I couldn't let him think I didn't love him, though. I fell beside him and like in a strange kind of déjà vu I hugged him like he had hugged me so long before. I held him close and cried with him. I had screwed up, this was _entirely_ my fault. My tears ran dry when I spoke at last, "Chase… I was lying. I do love you. I fell for you ever since we met. I just couldn't accept it. I'm so weak and stupid. I hurt you so much, when I should have stayed true to my heart. I love you. I really do. If you don't believe me I understand, but I'll do anything to make this up to…" Chase cut my wavering voice off once again and kissed me.

This time I kissed him back, all of my love his. We rolled, bodies crushed against the floorboards, but I didn't care anymore. I just curled my fingers in his hair and felt his soft lips molded against mine. I pulled him closer, neither of us in a rush. After all, we had all night. Clothes fell around us like multicolored snow and I realized that I belonged right here, in Chase's arms.

And I don't regret what we did. It was beautiful, perfect and most of all something I'll never forget. My body had never been in so much ecstasy; and neither had my heart.


End file.
